


All I want

by scarletseeker113



Series: There were days when each hour was a war I fought to survive [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, bad endearments, fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletseeker113/pseuds/scarletseeker113
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's hands are callused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I want

**Author's Note:**

> Full title: All I want (is to know your name and whisper it in your ear)
> 
>  
> 
> This will be spoilery for the previous installments of this series. But it can be read as a stand alone.

Clint’s hands are callused.

 __

He comes up with terrible nicknames. Honest-to-God-terrible. He calls her things like ‘pumpernickel’ and ‘sweetums’. Sometimes he calls her ‘sugar’ which makes her want to gag.

 __

The skin is built up on his left hand where the string of his bow settles. The heel of his palm is rough, a result of hand to hand combat. His knuckles are hard insensitive skin. The web between his thumb and his index finger on his right hand is callused from holding his bow.

 __

In the early mornings she’ll make coffee. Clint will stumble out of their room and slide an arm around her waist as he reaches his arm around her for his cup. “Thanks babe,” he whispers in her ear. And then presses a kiss to her shoulder blade.

That is the only time she will tolerate nicknames.

 __

He has scars on his hands too. One long one, diagonal across the palm of his right hand. An accident from when he was in the circus. It had been a miracle that he’d retained use of his fingers, he’d told her. And one other, that glances across his index finger and thumb on his left hand. That was on a mission. Natasha knows because she was there.

 __

When they rescue Jane from Loki things go south quickly. Natasha feels the bullet hit her chest with enough force to unbalance her. She takes a step back and then the pain and the breathlessness hit and she falls to the floor.

Clint is _screaming_ into the comms. Screaming with wild abandon. He’s screaming her name, she thinks. 

And then he’s there. He’s next to her and unzipping her uniform to get to the wound. He’ll fix her up, she knows. He’s done it before. She cannot be in danger when Clint is nearby.

She breathes in deep, a breath that makes her body shudder. 

His mouth is moving, but she can’t hear him. She’s focusing on the way his mouth moves and the look in his eyes. 

Her back arches. “Can’t. Breathe.” 

She thinks she hears Banner’s voice and then she loses focus.

 __

She knows what his hands are like. They have stitched her up on more than one occasion, the rough skin catching on the gauze. 

 __

Later she’s told that she has a conversation with Clint and Phil in the back of the ambulance but she doesn’t remember a single moment of it.

 __

Those hands have touched her, they have slid up her arms, they have brushed against her abdomen.

But none of this _matters._ Because every time he has touched her where she wants it has been because of someone’s else’s actions. She was shot, so his hands fixed her up. They were on a mission dancing while she was wearing a ridiculously low back so his fingers rested against the base of her spine.

In these situations she is not allowed to enjoy it or dwell on it. She is forced to concentrate on other things. 

 __

She remembers snippets of Clint talking to her while she lays in Medical.

“Nat, I will drop the Disney World idea. It’s completely off the table just as long as you wake up soon.”

“I’ll stop calling you stupid nicknames.”

“Please, Tash.”

“It’s not very nice of you to die on me after I saved your life.”

“I take back the thing about the nicknames, I just thought of a really good one.”

“Nat... please.” This one is hushed, the breath of the words brushing across the back of her hand.

 __

It’s worse when she is allowed to touch him.

She knows he has a scar on his left thigh because she dug the bullet out of his muscles. She has administered to shallow cuts on his calves and arms.

 __

Going home is tedious. She has to lean on Clint in order to get anywhere and she hates the damn wheelchair so much that she wrestles it into their hall closet before sliding to the floor, exhausted.

Clint is there, his scarred and callous hands helping her up. Natasha pushes him away, convinced that she can do this herself, thank you very much, but she just sways on the spot and pretty much falls into his arms.

He puts her in bed, his fingers brushing her hair out of her face. He sits on the edge of the bed looking down at her. Natasha stares back. 

He crawls into bed next to her and presses his nose into her neck. His arms wind around her torso.

“I’m really glad you’re alive, sweetheart,” he says and presses his lips to her neck softly.

She wrinkles her nose. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Baby doll? Honey bunch?” He lowers his voice and scoots closer, “Lady love?” 

She throws a pillow over her shoulder, hitting the side of his head. She hides her smile in the blankets.

 __

She hates that when she touches him it is clinical and necessary. She hates that half the time her hands are sliding over his skin it is to stitch him up and bandage his wounds.

 __

They go to Disney world eventually- a crisis and a half later. Clint buys a pair of Mickey Mouse ears and wears them all day. They hold hands and buy churros together.

For her part, Natasha spends most of the trip laughing at him.

The sky darkens and the lines for the rides are dwindling down. Natasha looks up at the flashes of light and finds fireworks going off.

Clint’s hand finds it’s way into hers and they stand there together, two master assassins in Disney World, smiling softly at the fireworks.

“Nat,” he says softly.

She looks over at him.

He is staring at her. Clint moves closer. His hands come up and frame the sides of her face. He lowers his mouth to hers and kisses her softly. Her hands go under his jacket, gripping his T-shirt as he kisses her.

His name comes out breathless when he pulls away. She steps closer and kisses him again.

 __

She likes it more when they’re laying in bed and his arm is wrapped around her and his chest to her back. Natasha can clearly remember what it was like to have his callused hand slide over her thigh, after she told him he was the only man she’d ever kissed simply because she wanted to. She can remember the first time she had wanted to kiss him. It was under mistletoe and she stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. Her lips brushed against his stubble and stung, but she relished the small pain.

 __

“Hey sugar booger,” he says, running his hands over her shoulders as he passes her on the couch. She grabs his hand and pulls, making him somersault over the couch and land on the floor.

“Okay, I may have deserved that,” he says, looking up at her.

She arches an eyebrow and turns her eyes back to her book.

 __

They don’t touch a lot in front of the others—the glaring exception being when Elizabeth Landon Stark was born. Clint had slid his arms around her waist and kissed her on the cheek. Natasha had leaned back and kissed him on the mouth. 

Their seventh kiss that was not for an audience.

 __

“Hey little duckling, can you pass me the sugar?”

Natasha throws it at his head.

 __

He was kidnapped and taken to Greenland almost a year ago, and Natasha can still remember the blind panic she’d felt when she didn’t know where he was. When she’s stitching him up on the jet afterwards he leans forward and says, “Sorry cupcake, I’ll try not to get kidnapped again.”

She pulls the suture tight and he winces.

__ 

Every single night they tangle their legs together and take comfort that their partner is near. Every night Clint whispers goodnight with a worse endearment.

“Goodnight, snookums.”

“Goodnight, butter biscuit.”

“Goodnight, cutesy pie.”

And then his arms will tighten around her waist and his hand will slide across her stomach.

 __

Clint’s hands are callused.


End file.
